


There's a battle outside and it's ragin'

by Eligh



Series: Legends [3]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Len and Mick are both Bad At Feelings, Len and Mick are both shits, M/M, Spoilers for 1x06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 15:30:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6121027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eligh/pseuds/Eligh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of Mick and Len's fight doesn't leave anyone all that happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's a battle outside and it's ragin'

It’s three in the morning and Len’s in the ship’s galley. He’s not entirely sure of the mechanics behind keeping the Waverider stocked, but there seems to be a steady stream of packaged noodles whenever he’s found himself peckish, so it’s convenient if nothing else. There’s nothing that screams ‘comfort food’ like a bright orange package of ramen, and Gideon’s either learned to stock the things they prefer or Maruchan brand noodles have somehow inexplicably survived a time war. Len’s undecided which is more likely; it’s fifty-fifty either direction.

He’s stirring the pot absently when the heavy tread of boots outside the kitchen doorway catches his attention and he—well, for lack of a better word—cringes. He knows the sound of those bootfalls, and sure enough, a moment later the noise stops abruptly as Mick freezes in the entrance.

“What’re you doing up?” Mick asks after a heartbeat too long of uncomfortable silence, his quest for a late night snack apparently overcoming their stalemate enough to force interaction this time. They’ve successfully avoided each other for the duration so far of the trip to where—and when—ever Rip’s pointing them, but the communications blackout became more difficult when faced with Rip’s suggestion that the crew get some sleep before they run headfirst into this next situation.

Len, for his part, is absolutely not sleepless because his cramped bunk felt too empty without Mick hogging the covers.

“Was hungry,” Len says woodenly, not looking around. “I didn’t eat wherever it was that Palmer cooked up for the rest of you after we got underway.”

Mick nods and leans against the counter next to the stove. “Curry,” he offers. “It was awfully hot, y’woulda hated it.”

“I like spice just fine,” Len says. “You’re the one that tears up at Thai.” He smiles reflexively, but then remembers himself and sobers. “Nevermind.”

The two of them lapse into silence. Len stirs his noodles once more and then flicks off the heat, pulling a bowl he’d readied earlier closer to pour his soup into. He pauses once half the broth’s swimming at the bottom and risks a glance over. “There’s enough for two,” he says, uncharacteristically hesitant.

Mick searches his face for a moment before nodding quickly and grabbing a bowl of his own. “Thanks,” he says quietly. “I like it when you cook ramen.”

Len knows. He’s fixed it for Mick before, though it’s usually been when Mick’s too beat up to change his own bandages, let alone cook a meal. “Not an issue,” he says, and they fall silent again, both of them hovering next to the stove and eating standing up.

“I was mad,” Mick says, long enough into the silence that Len’s actually startled enough to rattle his spoon against the metal side of his bowl. “Y’hit me, Lenny.”

Len inspects his food. He’s added sprouts and cabbage to the noodles, a dash of chili paste, some spices that don’t come packaged in a little foil pouch. “I’m sorry,” he says. “But I didn’t have time to talk sense into you.”

“Y’lied, too,” Mick says, ignoring the half-hearted apology. “And I _know_ you’ve done it before, I’m not sayin’ y’never did. But this one’s… bigger. ‘S like y’don’t wanna… be us. Anymore. You’re actin’ like a… like the Flash, or one of these other assholes.” He pauses, and then deliberately adds, “We’re not heroes.”

Len lifts his bowl to his mouth and drains the broth before answering, unaccountably bitter. He knows what kind of man Mick is; knows it well. “Yes, but unlike you, Mick, I don’t want the world to end in fire. I don’t like the heat of it.”

“Y’said we’re partners,” Mick snaps, his voice going low and dangerous. But y’never treat me like we are, it’s always _you_ orderin’ _me_ , an’ that’s not _partners_.”

Glaring, Len lifts a hand and counts down his fingers. “We steal things together, we plan heists together, we split the profits,” he spits. “We live and—hell, Mick, we sleep together.” He drops his arms to his side, suddenly exhausted. “We are literally partners in every definition of the word. And maybe we’re dysfunctional, and maybe even we’re toxic to each other, but I—I want to keep you—” he swallows. “Keep you safe.”

“Len,” Mick begins, but Len cuts him off.

“What I _don’t_ want—I don’t want to leave you in some nebulous future that could be written out of existence. I _want_ you by my side so we can take this damn world by storm.” His hands clench into fists and he looks up, meeting Mick head-on. “I want you there the day we _take_ what we’re _owed_.”

Mick puts his bowl aside. He hasn’t made much of a dent in the soup, and he looks stricken. “Lenny,” he says, reaching out and tugging on the edge of Len’s jacket hood. “Y’shoulda said.”

Len finds that he’s breathing hard. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to center himself, to find his cool. “Well. It’s almost surprising how rarely I get what I want.”

The silence between them swells and grows teeth.

“This…” Mick says finally. “Did I ruin us?”

Len looks down at Mick’s hand, burn-scarred and familiar where it’s wrapped in the fabric of his clothing. “No more than I did. But I think, Mick, that we want very different things from this little jaunt through time.” He sighs. “I should have been more honest with you, though. Could’ve saved us both some hurt.” His next words physically pain him, but he says them anyway. “Maybe… maybe we should think about not… being partners anymore.”

“Len,” Mick breathes, almost a plea. His grip tightens. “Don’t…I won’t burn you,” he says, his growl so low that it’s barely a whisper. “I’d never burn you, not really. Len, you’re—”

Len steps forward, closing the gap between them to press against Mick, both hands framing that wide, painfully reassuring face. He kisses him fiercely, all teeth and bruising pressure. “Shut up,” he breathes. Mick’s hands clench on his chest, on his hip. “Shut the fuck up and kiss me, Mick. Because… I think this should be the last time.”

Mick makes a wounded noise and steers him backward across the galley, pushing until Len hits the communal table with his thighs and falls backward. Mick follows him closely, not giving an inch, knocking the air out of Len’s chest when they collapse together. “Fine,” he says, nosing against the hollow of Len’s neck and biting once, twice, at the tendon. “One last time, Lenny.”

Len ducks his head and catches Mick’s mouth, arching up into Mick’s grip, pushing their lower halves together in a slow grind that he knows drives Mick insane. It works; thirty seconds later Len’s face down on the table with his pants around his ankles, Mick biting a path down his spine.

After, with the two of them sweaty and sated and sore on top of the galley’s table, Mick props himself up on an elbow and looks assessingly down. “Are you serious?” he asks. “About, uh, breakin’ up?”

Len nods. “We’re twisting each other up. It’s not good business.” He reaches up and touches Mick’s face, wiping away a bead of sweat at his temple. “We shouldn’t have taken up together to begin with. If we stop fucking, I know I’ll be able to keep a cooler head when it comes to you.”

“Funny,” Mick muses, though he doesn’t look especially pleased. “I don’t think a lack of gettin’ laid s’gonna make my blood any less hot.” Len raises an eyebrow at that but doesn’t comment, instead grabbing one of Mick’s henleys and slowly beginning to clean up the mess they made between his legs. Mick’s face clouds over but then goes exasperated. “Let me,” he says, and takes the shirt away before running it over Len’s skin with deceptive gentleness.

“What we’re doing isn’t working, either,” Len says, watching Mick’s ministrations. He has to distance himself from this man. There’s too much _heat_ between them. “Something’s going to snap. We should end things for the good of… well. For our own good.”

Mick grunts, possibly in assent, but then leans down and places a lingering kiss on Len’s hipbone.

“Let’s call it a break, ‘stead of an end,” he suggests, quiet. “See if we c’n work together without losin’ our heads.”

“Okay,” Len agrees, and the fact that he’s so eager to acquiesce doesn’t mean anything. Really.

Mick looks up at him, something indefinable in his dark eyes. “Lenny—” he begins to say, but Len’s seemingly forever doomed to conversations cut short, as just then the lights overhead flick from bright white to dull amber, and the ship jerks hard enough that they both slide forward a good two feet on the long table.

Gideon interrupts their muffled swearing to coolly inform them that their presence is requested on the bridge. Len and Mick exchange a glance and then hurriedly pull on their clothes.

The rest of this conversation can wait until later.

 

**Author's Note:**

> WILL THEY MAKE UP??!?!?! WILL THEY BE OKAY?!?!??! IS THEIR LOVE DOOMED FOREVER?!?!?!?!
> 
> probably. or not. idk. I don't write the show, I just react to it.


End file.
